WEREWOLF
by fairyfly
Summary: It's a Remus story. My first fic. Please read/review. It's really good.
1. Default Chapter

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WEREWOLF

BY FAIRYFLY

PROLOGUE

Werewolf… I hate that word. I hate saying it, I hate hearing it, I hate the way it looks, I hate the way it sounds… I hate everything about it. It's like, when you have some sickness or problem, you don't feel comfortable saying the actual word. Because it sounds dirty, and it's a part of you anyway. I can't describe it, but it's the same for like an alcoholic to be saying "I'm an alcoholic". This probably sounds so dumb to you if you haven't experienced it all yourself, but that's the best I can do.

They told me I couldn't come to school because of what I was. It wasn't safe for the students to be exposed to me. Dad was mad. He tried to tell the school governors that I was only dangerous during the full moon, but we both knew that wouldn't get to them. So dad hired me a tutor. Sam or something, a graduate of Hogwarts. He told me a lot about the school. That's probably why I wanted to go so bad. 

We always had to keep moving. People didn't like having a werewolf for a neighbor, and they didn't like hearing howls at night. Our frequent moves also kept me from making friends, even if they didn't freak out at the sight of me. They all were afraid, I suppose. But what they didn't know is that we, just like animals, were more afraid of them then they were of us.

Don't get me wrong. I'm not in my swirling world of self pity right now. I'm not complaining. Loads of people had it so much worse then me. I heard of a werewolf that was stoned to death. In Liverpool. His name was Brian, I think. And there are some who are driven to become something like a wolf, only human when the moons not out, instead of a human, only wolf when the moon is full. Confusing? Well, nevermind…

Anyway, to the story. I would tell you how I got bitten in the first place, since everybody seems especially fascinated by that (personally, I don't see why), but I can't. I don't remember a moment of it. That's what the brain does, when something as horrible as that happens to a child. It erases it completely. Or maybe it was Dad with a memory charm. I'm not sure. But that's the point. I guess neither Dad nor my brain seemed to realize that there was just so much more to being a werewolf then getting bit, that erasing that little of it wouldn't help at all. But I'll tell you from the part the I remember.

I was lying in a wide bed—it was my parents' bed. The window was open wide, and it was just too bright outside, but inside it was pretty dark. You could see little specks of dust as they floated past the window. Outside, I could tell by just looking, the air was crisp and fresh, the kind of winter air that bites your cheeks pleasantly, although it's warm enough to be outside in just a sweater. But inside it was hot and stuffy and hard to breathe. My father and mother were there. Dad looked grave and Mom's eyes were red and puffy as though she'd been crying. There three other men in the room I didn't know. Later I found out that two of them were from the Ministry (some Dangerous Creature department) and the short, round one was the doctor. But as I didn't know that then, I just wondered why they all looked as though someone had died.

"Mom? Dad? What's wrong?" I asked. I was five or six—I don't remember—when that happened, but, as my parents always used to laugh about it, I was surprising serious. As mom said, I was old for my age. 

But however young or old I was, my words seemed to be the last straw for my poor mother. With a sudden eruption of sobs, she fell on her knees against the bed and started crying hysterically. 

"Oh, my baby! Oh, he's just a little baby boy! How could this happen to him?!" She wailed.

"Mrs. Lupin, please, we're sorry for your—er—situation," One of the Ministry agents stepped forward, slightly tapping her on the shoulder. "but please compose yourself! We know this is difficult to comprehend, but we—" 

"You bastards! Shut up and get away from me! You say you're sorry?! You say you know? YOU DON'T KNOW A—"

You have no idea how much that scared me. When your mother, for no apparent reason, starts screaming that something unbelievably horrible has just happened to you… All sorts of things were rushing through my head. And yet, none of them were "Oh my God! I'm werewolf!". Actually, I thought I was going to be sacrificed to the God of Yellow Pigeons (don't ask) because I had some incurable sickness.

"Mom!" I cried. "I'm fine! There's nothing wrong with me!"

The Ministry agents looked uncomfortable. One of them—the taller one—shifted his weight from one foot to another. He glanced at my father, who was scratching the back of his head and blinking furiously. The doctor seemed in a totally different world, bending over the table, mixing something in a small travel-cauldron.

"Mr. Lupin, would you mind coming downstairs with us?" Said the taller Ministry agent. "There's still the paperwork to fill out."

"Yes, yes, paperwork." Chimed in the second. 

Wordlessly, Dad bend down and took Mom's elbow, tugging her gently and tiredly away from the bed.

"Come, Natalie." He said quietly. "Paperwork."

CHAPTER ONE

I admit it, I had wanted to get into Hogwarts. I dreamed about getting that letter at night, and when I woke up, I couldn't wait to go to sleep so that I could dream about it again. Sam said I was impossible. Oh, don't think me crazy. I knew I wouldn't get it. I knew it. But was a kind of a inside hope, a guilty wish, that those people who send out letters made some mistake. Or maybe they forgot I was something that my own mother was embarrassed of. It was like when you know there's a test today, but you come into the classroom hoping the teacher forgot about it. We were all amazed when the letter came.

It was really an amazing happening. Or maybe it seems so amazing to me because in was all about me, but at that moment I couldn't have cared less. I was sitting at the kitchen table, drinking tea. We've just finished breakfast (By "we" I mean "I". Dad was in Bulgaria and Mom was upstairs cutting out paper flowers. Her new hobby. I suppose that's what I should call it.) when the owl soared in.

Oh, he was a handsome bird. All proud and dignified… He dropped the latter on the table and flew off gracefully. At first I didn't spare the yellowish envelope an extra glance. I had supposed it was from the Ministry (such an arrogant creature could only belong to them), but then I realized that if the letter was for Dad, it would have been dropped off in Bulgaria.

Plus, I saw the Hogwarts seal.

That's what I though of the first time I met a dementor. It was really, truly what you'd call, well, a dream-come-true. They're so rare, when you want something just so bad, and you actually get it. But those are the best. I felt so full of energy suddenly. I jumped out of my chair, accidentally bumping the table and upsetting my half-full tea cup. I didn't care, though. I felt as though I could run forever and then run it again. I raced upstairs to the nearest person in the house (and only).

"It's a mistake." 

That was the first thing my mother said when I stormed into the room, nearly wrenching the door off it's hinges. She didn't even sound a tiny bit excited. And that hurt me. I felt hurt and betrayed You that feeling. You must Every child has met up with such a reaction from an adult at least once. When they discover or find or achieve something utterly fascinating, and all they get in a response and indifferent and bland "That's nice, sweetie." But this wasn't some little thing. This was _HOGWARTS!_

"Mom, it's not a mistake. Look, it says clearly, 'Mr. R. J. Lupin!' and it has my room and everything!"

"Alright, you got in—"

I grinned, and leaped up in the air, letting out a great whoop of joy. Mother continued to cut out the flowers. That was making mad now, and as I didn't want my great mood ruined, I turned on me heal to go back downstairs. I wanted to write to dad, tell him the good news.

"—But you're not going."

I didn't hear her. Maybe because I didn't want to hear her, maybe because I was cheering so loudly. I wouldn't have paid attention even if I did. I was already thundering down the stairs, out the front door. Writing to dad seemed to long and still. I needed to yell. Racing outside, into the street, I looked around panting, who to tell my great news first.

And then I realized there was no one to tell.

Author's Note: Well? Did you like it? My first fic!!! This is one of the shorter chapters, because nothing really happens. Well, it does, but nothing you could really write on. The story's gonna go through Lupin's Hogwarts years, and it'll end at the end of Book 3 (Prisoner of Azcaban) or maybe even book 4. If you guys like it. Please review. Flames will be used to warm up my room, cuz it's FREEZING here right now. Reviews will speed up the coming of the next part!!!

Disclaimer: Mr. and Mrs. Lupin belong to me, as do the Ministry Agents and the doctor. The plot's mine, too. The flowers belong to Mrs. Lupin, and the rest are wondrous creations of you-know-who (and, no, I don't mean Voldemort). 


	2. Default Chapter

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WEREWOLF

FAIRYFLY

CHAPTER TWO

I knew I was going to come to Hogwarts even when my mother was screaming the opposite. It's the kind of thing where you feel you've just made it too far to give up or not succeed. When it came to that, I wonder why I even wrote down that part, where she said I couldn't go, because it really didn't make any difference. But it just went to show you something about Mother, I guess. 

From that day until the beginning of the term, our house became an inn for a great number of owls. They swooped in and out the windows—from the headmaster of Hogwarts (someone told me his name was Albus Dumbledor. He even wrote a letter to me himself saying he was glad I was going to come to his school), the deputy headmistress, my very distant relatives (who, for some reason, didn't know I existed until I was accepted into the best magic school in Europe), as well as some people from Dad's work. Once or twice two of the Ministry Agents stopped by (the dangerous creatures department) to check on me and make sure I wasn't running wild or something. With all this commotion, I was surprised when Mother didn't have another nervous breakdown. She had them often now-a-days.

But, despite the fact the I was allowed to come to school, Mother made sure she got her way at least once. They sat me down with Dad and lectured me on and on and on. All the time I was sitting there, on the edge of my seat, biting my lip, expecting them to commend me to do (or not to do) something unbelievable or terrifying. But they didn't. Mother decided (these were all her ideas, I knew, even though Dad said "we". He felt kind of guilty throwing her out of the whole decision thing, I suppose) that I was to keep a low profile. Never strike up a conversation with the pupils for no reason, don't voice my opinion, don't get into arguments, don't answer all the questions in class. Be all average. Fade into the scenery 

They needn't have worried, though. I had that exact same plan. I'll more then gladly stay in the back round. All I wanted is to learn all I can, and get out. I didn't want to attract attention to myself. People had always made me nervous, I guess because I always expected them all to gang up on me, or start throwing stones, because of what I was. It had happened before, and even though it never got violent, there were a few close calls when the crowd around me suddenly hushed and edged away. I was more uncomfortable around people than people were around werewolves. 

At last, that faithful day arrived. 

I had not slept the night before, full of nerves, apprehension, excitement, wonder, and at times plain dead fear. This was probably the biggest thing that ever happened to me in my life (well, the biggest thing that could be considered_ positive_), and calling it that was no over-exaggeration. Everything was going to be just right. I wasn't going to mess up. And the best part was that nobody would know about…about _that_. Professor Dumbledore said no one would tell any of the students. Everything had been worked out. And yet I lay, tossing and turning, my head pounding and my heart beating fast, until, with the first rays of sun, I shot out of bed to get ready. 

It was one of the grayer mornings when I sat down for breakfast and I wondered if it was some sort of a bad omen. Mother certainly seemed to think so. She was rocking back in forth in her chair, mumbling something about trees. But then again, she was always like that. I reached across the table for the toast and was chewing it (without really tasting it) when Dad walked though the door. He looked unnaturally somber.

"Good morning, Natalie, Remus." He said, nodding at us. If mother heard him, she didn't make a sign to show it.

"Mornin, Dad." I answered, trying to relieve the tension by acting as normal as possible. 

I don't know, but for some reason we were all on pins and needles that morning. Well, Mother was Mother, never changing. But Dad? He usually can't spend thirty seconds in a room with another breathing thing without cracking a joke or bursting into hysterical laugher. Now he acted as though someone had died. I was no better, although I'd like to think I was. In my mind, I saw all the things that can possibly go wrong come true, and even though some were quite creative (a HUGE dragon flew to Hogwarts, told me I soiled the school by being there, and burned it down) all seemed extremely likely to happen. I never wanted to leave so dearly as I did now, and yet I never wanted to not go anywhere like at that moment.. 

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Dad got up, pecked Mother on the cheek, and we were off. 

Floo Powder had never been one of my favorite forms of travel. I always felt sick afterwards. There was a period of time when I was still human when I'd try to convince my parents that I was allergic to it, but it hadn't worked out so I had given up. Today, however, I was grateful for the mad spinning and blurry fireplaces shooting past and even for the slight smell of rotten eggs. It distracted me a bit from the world, as I had to concentrate hard on not getting sick. 

I stumbled out of the fireplace into the Leaky Cauldron and shook my head vigorously to get the green spots out of my eyes. I looked around as I waited for Dad to arrive with my trunk—he was taking a much longer time that usual. The pub was especially busy today, I noticed, and it was a mess, too. Two boys were being yelled at by the inn keeper for conjuring up ugly yellow slime and tossing it all over. I thought it was kind of funny how they looked at the man as though he was crazy, and then Dad stumbled out. 

"Ready to go?" He asked.

I nodded, the action seemed to take a lot more effort than usual.

The King's Cross was filled, as always, with Muggles. That was one of the reasons Mother hadn't come to see me off. She didn't like Muggles that much. Personally, I don't see what's really so bad about them (they can't be much different from Squibs, can they?), but I've never met one, so I can't talk. They were rushing every which way, some of them looking very lost. But I did see a few of wizards, too. Most of them were Hogwarts students with their families. 

We leaned casually against the barrier between platforms 9 and 10. On the other side, there was the scarlet train with big, bold letters spelling out HOGWARTS EXPRESS written across it. This was even a greater chaos than the Muggle world. A girl with dark red hair almost knocked Dad over to the ground as she shot past screaming, 

"PETUNIA! You little maggot! You will _so_ die for this!!!" 

Dad said that I should go drop off my trunk and come back out, since there were some twenty minuets left before the train departed. I did that, abandoning my trunk in an empty compartment towards the end of the train. I hoped it would stay empty except for me. I came back outside.

"Well, son, I guess this is it!" He said, trying to grin. I hoped dearly he wouldn't start crying. That should really burst my mood up a couple of notches! He put a hand on my shoulder and held me an arm's length away, looking at me as though this was the last time he'd ever see me. Parents have a tendency to get a tiny bit over emotional on occasions like this. 

"Remus, I just want you to know, that your Mother and I are very proud of you, no matter what happens. And that if things start to get—er—out of control, you get on a train and come straight home, understand?"

"Ok."

"And if you don't like it at that school, you can come right back, and we'll get Sam to tutor you again, ok?"

"Alright." 

"And—" here he drew in a shaky breath, "—you'll write, won't you?"

"I will."

I wanted to get away from him as fast as possible. I felt that if I didn't, I'd suddenly change my mind and start running away, away. And never stop, just keep running. Away from this school, away from Dad, away from full moons… There was an odd feeling in my stomach as though it was tied into knots, and there was a heavy weight on my chest that made breathing difficult. I didn't know what t say, so I just looked at my watch (for some reason it took me a long time to figure out the time) and said,

"I better go, Dad. Don't worry. I'll be ok." 

He was positively on the verge of tears now. I think he was a bit hurt that I was so eager to desert him. There were still fifteen minuets before the train left.

"Yes, alright. Goodbye, son."

"Bye." I said, and headed for the train. 

The train ride was pretty much OK. I didn't have the compartment to myself, unfortunately, but the three sixth-years that were there didn't seem very interested in me beyond to learn my name, so they left me alone. I was happy enough with that amount of attention. I sat, leaning my head against the window, watching the countryside flash by. It started to drizzle after awhile, but there wasn't any heart in it, so it stopped soon after.

I don't know how I ever survived those minuets before the Sorting. Sam had told me how they sort into houses, and he told me about the houses, too. But I still couldn't believe how nervous I was. What if the Sorting hat will refuse to sort me because of what I am (I haven't heard of it ever happening before, but then again I _am_ the first werewolf to come to the school, aren't I?). Or maybe she'll decide just based on that… I was pretty sure that's what was going to happen. 

I felt so—so—so _dirty_ compared to the kids standing besides me. None of them were half-human trying to pass themselves up as someone worthy of Hogwarts. None of them had this ugly black spot on my life. Hey, even the deepest, darkest Slytherins were probably truer than me. I suddenly felt a prang in my stomach. I felt sick.

"Hey! Are you ok?" 

A boy with dark hair and eyes was standing in front of me, looking slightly concerned. I didn't realize that I was muttering my thoughts out loud to myself. For a moment a rush of shivers ran down my spine, _how much have I muttered out?! _

"You know, there's really nothing to be afraid of. Nobody's ever died from a sorting." 

I guess my muttering was to quiet for anyone to hear. Now I reeled from the shock of being spoken to. I wasn't supposed to speak to anyone. I was supposed to blend into the scenery. And here I was, attracting attention before school even started. I cleared my throat, but before I could find my voice, the door opened and Professor McGonagall entered.

"We are ready for you. Please follow me."

I couldn't feel my legs as I dragged them out into the Great Hall (where the ceiling was enchanted to look like the sky outside, Sam said). The dark haired boy disappeared. 

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Author's Note: Well, how was it? Sorry it took such a long time to get up. I was really busy with a different story I'm working on (nothing fan-fic-y). TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK!!!! The reviews are mother's milk to me. I need something to keep me going, or else I get side tracked. Review, and I'll love you forever!!!

Disclaimer: Everyone belongs to the great and might JKR, except for the people that don't. Those are mine. MINE! 


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